The gardener's lament
Beyond capacity
Remember in May:
Those pin-neat rows
go rogue in summer heat.
Fine beauty in June.
Come July, gay abundance.
Next up, chaos.
By September, I look no more.
Aficionado of the planning,
I am caught by the glory of the seeds
in January catalogues.
The tilling and toil never mentioned.
NOTE: We were late getting the tomatoes planted, so we are behind on the harvesting date, too. It will likely be two or so more weeks until red-ripening happens... #patiencerequired
NOTE: This prose poem was published on 50-Word Stories in early July. You can read it here, unillustrated.
..............................................................................................................
To receive my weekly blogpost in your inbox, email fiveyearsawriter at gmail dot com. Simply put SUBSCRIBE in the subject line.
Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.
As ye sow, so shall ye reap.
ReplyDeleteI sowed not, and neither shall I reap this year. What was once the tomato garden is now black eyed Susans. A perennial that should bring joy if not sustenance. But beauty does feed the soul.
I love your poetry.
A beautiful prose poem, made even more expressive with the photographs!
ReplyDeleteThanks Amanda, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by the hill in the front, my ambitions exceeded my skill set.
ReplyDelete